


cause every little thing, is gonna be alright

by Resacon1990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Claudia Stilinski's Funeral, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Young Derek, Young Stiles, pre-Sterek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resacon1990/pseuds/Resacon1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's everywhere, Stiles. She's in the flowers in your yard, in the bells you'll hang at christmas, in the cookbook you'll read from, in the lines of your face and the cracks in the pavement down your street. In the wheel of your car and the ring on your dad's hand. She'll always be there, always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cause every little thing, is gonna be alright

_They say death is just the beginning of another adventure, that those who die are happy because whatever lies in wait on the other side is nothing but joy._

_But the ones who are left behind, what happens to them?_  

* * *

He watches his father walk away, his hand dragging over top of the casket and clutching the corner for a long moment. His lonely silhouette standing out as he walks towards the church behind the crowd. He watches as he enters the building and takes one last glance back out, his eyes trailing over his son for a moment, before he's gone. 

Stiles tries not to feel so alone. 

He knows his father, knows he's dealing with the guilt of not being there for the final moments of his wife's life, and he will never forget his father stumbling into that emergency room covered in blood and dirt and letting out the most agonised scream Stiles had ever heard before collapsing. 

Stiles will always remember it, and he can't help but turn to his mothers casket and wish she'd held on that little longer, so his father would at least feel like he hadn't failed his wife in some way. 

He's young, but he's not stupid, and he knows that it could've been worse too.  

He's the only one at the grave now, and he wonders if they forgot about him? No one would normally leave an eight year old standing over a grave by themselves, but he also knows that everyone is too busy focusing on his father, on the grief of him _losing a wife_ that they've probably forgotten once again that he _lost a mother_. 

" _At least you've still got your father_ ," he remembers Aunt Tilly saying yesterday, her fake nails scraping his cheek as she pat it, but she was wrong. He doesn't. Not right now. 

"Hey, kid," he hears a voice, and he glances up from his studying of the grave to see a young teen in a suit, a teen he instantly recognises as a Hale. He bites his lip as he looks at him, his name lost in the fog of his thoughts, but he can see the sadness in the boys eyes and the grey of his face and there's an older lady similar to him standing by a nearby grave with a sad smile that doesn't reach her eyes. 

The last two, he registers, and he winces as he thinks of what they'd lost. He may have lost a mother last week, but they lost their whole family a few months ago. He knows they knew his mother, well their mothers had known each other. Good friends, if he could remember correctly, and he remembers having play dates with the youngest girl, Cora, with these two older ones watching from the sofa with smiles and laughs. 

"Hello," he chokes out, his mother had always taught him to be polite, and the boy gives a small smile similar to his sisters before he takes a few steps forward. 

"Do you remember me?" 

Stiles nods, his movements slow, before he shakes his head and says, "I can't remember your name." 

The boy just nods though and crouches beside him, reaching out to hover a hand over Stiles's shoulder, "it's okay to not remember," the boy says before glancing at his hand and raising an eyebrow. Stiles understands what he means, asking if he can touch. He knows why too, remembers when the boy had been screaming at his father because he touched him a few hours after the fire in the police station. 

Stiles remembers peeking around the corner of his fathers office and staring with wide eyed curiosity as the boys eyes had flashed a vibrant blue before his sister had dragged him into a corner, the two of them complete wrecks as they sobbed over their loss. 

He gives another short nod and the boys hand drops to his shoulder, and the sudden reassuring weight breaks something in Stiles as his eyes begin to itch. 

"It's not going to be okay, is it?" he asks quietly, and for some reason he wants to ask this boy these questions and gets answers from him, because his hand is warm and his gaze, while broken, is soft and calm. He wonders if they'll flash again, if the green will turn blue, but he can't think otherwise as he waits for the answer. 

"Maybe," and its the truth, he knows it is, not a lie like his aunts and uncles had told him, "it might be okay, Stiles," and theres a hand on his chin tilting it up to make Stiles look at him, and he does. He looks at the kind face wobbling dangerously as the tears build up. 

"Will Daddy be okay?"  

The boy smiles again, and it almost seems sadder than the last, before he reaches up and brushes a tear with his thumb. "I don't know," he says honestly, and Stiles lets out a choked little sound as his eyes slide shut and his hands clench into fists. 

"I guess its time to grow up," he grits out through his teeth. It is, he knows it is, because his father won't be able to handle a hyperactive child as well as his grief, and Stiles knows he has to change. He'll try, he promises himself, he'll try to be less energetic, to be more quiet and to be more helpful. But as he mumbles these things under his breath the boy starts shaking him and starts up a chorus of "no no no". 

"No, Stiles, no, don't grow up, not now," the boy says, and his hands come up to cup Stiles's cheeks, "definitely not now. Your dad needs you, he needs you to be _you_. He lost his wife, he can't lose the son he helped raise with her." 

Stiles is eight, but he's smart, and he knows what the boy means and he gives a third shaky nod before his body convulses and he tips forward, sprawling into the boys waiting arms. 

"I miss her," he whimpers, and the boys arms tighten around him as he nods into his hair. 

"I know you do, and you always will. But she will always be with you," and he pulls Stiles back once to give him a small smile, "always. She's everywhere, Stiles. She's in the flowers in your yard, in the bells you'll hang at christmas, in the cookbook you'll read from, in the lines of your face and the cracks in the pavement down your street. In the wheel of your car and the ring on your dad's hand. She'll always be there, _always_." 

He sobers for a second, his nose itching and eyes still blurring, but he looks at the boy with wide eyes before asking "like your family?"

He hears the lady's gasp even from the distance away she is, and he sees the way the boys eyes cloud and his face seems to become even greyer. 

"Like my family," he mumbles after a moment before looking at Stiles with a soft smile, "who I see in the trees, in the stars and the moon, and I hear in my voice and my howl." 

Stiles nods his head sadly, not understanding but knowing that the boy is right, and he thinks about the flowers his mother loved from their garden placed on top of the casket behind him and he knows, _knows_ , that the boy will always be right. 

"It's time," the lady calls, and Stiles glances at her before his eyes widen as the boy starts to stand. 

"You're leaving?" he chokes out, stumbling forward to grab the boys trouser leg and look up, his lip wobbling as his eyes itch and blur once more. 

The boy smiles down at him though, and this time the smile reaches his eyes a little, "you'll be okay, Stiles. Trust me." 

"Don't go." 

Hands are on his arms briefly before they slip around him and pull him into the air, and Stiles finds himself being crushed to the boys body, his head slipping down to rest on his shoulder as the boy nuzzles his hair. 

"I'll come back, one day," he promises and Stiles can't stop his broken sobs as his arms wind around the boys neck and he _clings_. "I promise." 

"Please, don't leave me." 

He's placed lightly on top of the casket, his legs hanging from the side and he takes a second to wonder if this is disrespectful and if Aunt Tilly will yell at him for it, before the boys face is in front of his. 

"I won't ever leave you," the boy says, "because like your mother and my family, I'll always be here," and he taps the side of Stiles's head before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Stiles's forehead.  

Stiles doesn't say anything, just leans forward to place his own sloppy kiss against the boys chin before he drops his gaze and looks at his hands. He hears a quiet sigh, and the boys hand squeezes his clenched ones before he starts to walk away. 

"I… I still can't remember your name," he suddenly hears himself say after a second, and he looks up to see the boy pause mid-stride, the lady having moved to be in front of him with an expectant look. 

"It's Derek," the boys says as he turns his head to look back, and for a brief second Stiles sees his eyes flash that vibrant blue before he blinks and they're gone, the last two Hale's gone. 

He sits for a moment longer, thinking about the boy and how soft and gentle he was, before suddenly someone is calling his name and he glances up to see his father running towards him with a wide eyed panicked face. 

"We'll be okay," Stiles says quietly, his hands brushing the casket and trailing over the soft flower petals as he leant down to kiss it, before he slowly turns around, catching the sight of one more flash of blue, before calling out. 

"Dad!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you :)
> 
> [my tumblr](http://resacon1990.tumblr.com/)


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